The Mirror of Fate

  Ector hesitated, working his tongue. “I can’t say. I promised.”

  “Well your promises—and your master’s commands, for that matter—aren’t worth someone’s life.”

  “Wait now,” I announced. “I have the solution.” Squarely, I faced Ector. “You will not violate his command. But I will.”

  “But—”

  “This will work, I tell you!” I grabbed him by the arm. “You can still bring the key to your master. He can do whatever he likes with it! But first, I shall use it to save myself.”

  “My master said . . .”

  “Forget what he said.” I glared at him. “He’ll just have to share it.”

  “But he must have had a reason,” protested the boy.

  “Silence!” I jabbed my staff into the stony ground. “I’ll hear no more about your master. As far as I can tell, he has the courage of a newborn hare and the wisdom of a jackass! Sending a lad your age into the middle of this swamp! If the stakes were so high, he should have sent an army.”

  Ector started to respond, but my severe look silenced him.

  Turning to Hallia, I declared, “The real problem is how to get it out of there.” I winced as the wall of flames swelled higher, towering over our heads. “No mortal could pass through such a blaze and survive.”

  She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Yet my father was mortal. How did he get in there?”

  My face brightened—from more than reflected flames. “He didn’t.”

  “How then did he hide the key?”

  I slid my hand down my staff. “Through his own power of Leaping.”

  She started. “He did know some magic. But enough to do that? It’s possible, yes.” Her expression darkened. “Do you think, though . . .”

  “That I can do it?” Pensively, I watched the blaze. “I really don’t know. Leaping is hard to control. I might send it—well, somewhere else by mistake, as I’ve done before. All I can do is try.”

  She touched my cheek and turned my face toward hers. “Then try, young hawk.”

  My attention turned back to the circle of flames, and the twisted tree within it. Using my second sight, I probed the charred soil at the tree’s base. Finding nothing there, I moved to the vents, lined with rocks that had been burst apart by the unending heat. Again, nothing. I scanned the tree itself—roots first, then trunk, then limbs. Still nothing.

  Where in this inferno was the key? Carved from an antler, Hallia had said. With a sapphire embedded in its crown. I kept searching, following every contour of the tree—until at last I spotted an unusual shape. It was a small, contoured object, resting on a burl on the trunk. Peering closer, I spied a flash of bright blue, as bright as a sapphire.

  Concentrating, I focused on the key. Somehow, I sensed that my powers were not as strong as I remembered. But this was no time for self-doubts. I trained all my senses upon the object, grasping it with hands of magic.

  Leap to me.

  The flames surged, forcing all of us to step backward. Hands of heat slapped my cheeks. The very air crackled, while the roar swelled, assaulting our ears. Still, I kept my focus.

  Leap to me. Through the flames.

  As if sensing my intrusion, the inferno grew even greater. The blast of heat singed my eyebrows; the raging flames of heat groped at my tunic. And at my memory of other flames—so relentless, so deadly.

  I felt my strength fading rapidly. My legs wobbled. It was all I could do just to keep standing. Whatever I held in my grasp would surely fall, surely burn as I had done. With a final effort, I tried to heave my powers through the conflagration.

  Out of the writhing flames, the key appeared. The polished white form glowed from the fires that surrounded it, and from an inner light of its own. Borne by invisible wings, it sailed through the blazing wall. Sizzling fingers tugged at it, trying to hold it back, but it pulled free. Even as I sank to my knees on the ground, struggling to catch my breath, it fell into my open hand.

  Hallia, trembling, reached to touch it. She moved her fingers from the finely wrought base, up the shaft, over the looping crown adorned with a sapphire. “You did it,” she whispered. I could tell that she was speaking both to me—and to her father.

  At that instant, something whizzed just over my head. Some sort of weapon! I glimpsed it slicing into the circle of flames. Then, to my horror, I saw that it had left behind a dark trail—not of smoke, but of emptiness. Nothing, not even light, remained along the path of its flight.

  It was, I knew with a shudder, an arrow. Not a traditional arrow, but one with special properties. One that could, as Shim had warned, pierce through the day.

  18: ROSE BLOSSOMS

  Leaning heavily on my staff, I struggled to stand. Carefully, I avoided touching the dark ribbon that the arrow had cut into the air—a void where nothing, not even light, remained.

  Hallia, looking ashen, backed up until her shoulder touched my own. Ector stood next to us, his eyes wide with terror. Together, we watched as a vast phalanx of warriors strode out of the vapors. But for the dark shimmerings in the air that were their bodies, and the vague glimmers of light from their eyes, they remained almost invisible. Yet they could not be missed, for each of them wore a stout, curved sword, hung from the waist with a belt of woven vines. And each of them bore a heavy wooden bow, nocked with a charcoal-black arrow that was aimed directly at us.

  “Marsh ghouls,” muttered Ector, edging closer to my side. “Where can we go?”

  Nowhere, it seemed. Behind us roared a deadly inferno—the Flaming Tree and the blaze that surrounded it. Before us stood forty or fifty marsh ghouls, armed with menacing weaponry. I could feel, almost touch, their scorn for anything alive that stood in their way. Even the swirling vapors of the marsh seemed reluctant to touch their wavering forms. My own shadow withered, shrinking down to a mere wisp of gray at my feet.

  Propped against my staff, I tried to think of something—anything—we could do. As waves of dark mist rolled over us, my mind raced, but with no result. And my quivering legs didn’t help matters. I felt weak, hardly able to stand. So how could I possibly fight? Was I simply drained by my act of Leaping or, as I feared, by the fading power of the elixir?

  “They hate us,” said Hallia, her voice hush. “I can feel it.”

  “So can I.” Then, with a slight shudder, I realized that I also felt something more. It was an uncertain, elusive feeling; a sensation I could almost grasp, but not quite. “They hate us, yes. And yet . . . I have the feeling, somehow, that they hate something else. Even more.”

  She gave me a bewildered glance.

  Turning my flagging powers toward the phalanx of marsh ghouls, I probed their shadowy selves. I pushed to see behind their shimmering forms, beyond their visible shapes. Wrath—more potent than poison hemlock—flowed from them. Probing deeper, I sensed betrayal. And could it be? A deep, unflagging sorrow.

  Gradually, ever so gradually, their shapes came more clear for me. They had heads, long and narrow, topped by hoods; dark brown tunics that fell to the ground; and enormous, clawed hands. I saw more of their faces—twisted, harsh, hateful. And then I saw something else, something so surprising that I couldn’t believe it at first. They were wrapped, held tight, by a kind of rope. No, not rope. Something far more heavy, far more cruel.

  Chains.

  Yes, there could be no doubt. Someone, or some force, had bound the marsh ghouls. Stolen their freedom—and, perhaps, their will. As much as they raged at the three intruders who dared to venture on their land, they raged much more at some hidden oppressor.

  Hallia jerked, craning her neck. “Do you smell that?”

  Indeed, I did. Rose blossoms! Again I smelled that striking aroma, so very different from the sulphurous smoke of the blazing vents or the rancid air of the swamp. Faint though it was, it brought a sudden memory of spring roses, fresh and alluring. And . . . something else, a dream perhaps, too distant to recall.

  Just then, the line of shadowy warriors parted. Through t
he opening strode a woman. Tall and proud, she wore a glistening white robe, untouched by mud, and a silver-threaded shawl about her shoulders. Her hair, black like my own, fell midway down her arms. Seeing us, she smiled grimly. Her eyes seemed as devoid of light as the arrow’s dark trail.

  For an instant, I thought somehow I knew this woman. Her stride, her curling lips, her hair—all reminded me of a girl I had met in another part of Fincayra. A girl who had betrayed me. Whose name was Vivian . . . or, as she preferred, Nimue. I pushed those thoughts aside. How could a girl my own age, who had tried to steal my staff only two years ago, suddenly have grown into a woman? Yet the resemblance was strong. Very strong. I almost recognized her, just as I almost recognized that scent of rose blossoms.

  I started. For the woman pulled from behind her back something that I most definitely did recognize. My own sword! Its blade, catching the light from the circle of flames, flashed brightly. It almost seemed to be calling to me, imploring me to take it back.

  Ector’s body tensed. Then he spoke a single word—a name—that froze the blood in my veins. “Nimue.”

  “Indeed, little servant,” she answered in a voice that sounded only a shade huskier than the voice of the girl I had once known. She waved the sword at Hallia and myself. “Wouldn’t you like to introduce me to your friends? Hmmm? Or can you not recognize them under all those layers of mud?”

  Hallia, her indignation overcoming her fear, stepped forward. “I am Hallia, of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath—a people who learned long ago that finely wrought clothing can’t mask a poisoned heart.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “A people who learned long ago to run away from trouble instead of confronting it.” Without waiting for Hallia’s response, she turned to me. “And you, young wizard. Who might you be?”

  Though my weakened body trembled, I stood as tall as I could. “We have met before.”

  “Ah, yes. So we have.” She examined my staff. “A long time ago, hmmm?”

  I said nothing.

  “Too bad.” Glumly, she clacked her tongue. “You know, I think I liked you better before. In your younger form.” She sent Hallia a knowing glance. “Is he any better at romancing now? He was, believe me, dreadfully clumsy back then.”

  Hallia’s eyes flared angrily.

  “My sword,” I declared. “You have my sword.”

  Carelessly, Nimue twirled the silver hilt in her hand, watching it sparkle. “Ah yes, so I do.”

  “I want it back.”

  “Really?” She scanned the rows of marsh ghouls, arrows at the ready. “You wouldn’t be thinking of fighting me, would you? That would be rash, very rash. These marksmen are not seasoned fighters, like warrior goblins. But I have trained them to shoot my own dark arrows—and shoot well.”

  I glared at her. “You’re not only older. You’re crueler.”

  She stabbed at the air with my blade. “The blessings of age! The same thing will happen to you, young wizard. Ah, yes.” She released a long, low cackle. “If you should survive this day, that is, which is most unlikely.”

  She leaned closer, the glow from the inferno dancing on her pale skin. When she spoke, her grating whisper made me shudder. “And if you should, by some miracle, survive, this sword will not be the last thing I shall steal from you. That, little wizard, I can promise.”

  She straightened herself, patting down her robe, then scanned her ring of warriors. “Yet even as I speak, I am tempted to show you some mercy.”

  “I don’t need mercy from you,” I spat back.

  “Oh no?” She scrutinized me with mock concern. “You don’t look at all well, hmmm.” Her lips creased, almost smiled. “Is it possible you could be having some sort of problem . . . with your heart?”

  I cringed.

  “Huntress,” snarled Hallia. “It was you who sent the beetles!”

  “Perhaps, you slab of venison! And perhaps I’ve brought some other blessings to this marsh, as well.”

  Several of the marsh ghouls stirred suddenly, releasing wrathful growls. Nimue turned to them, raising her eyebrows. They instantly quieted, though their shadowy forms continued to quiver.

  She turned her gaze back to me. “As I was saying, right now I am feeling merciful.” She strode forward, raised my sword, and plunged it deep into the ground. Charred dirt flew up, soiling her dress, but the marks instantly disappeared. All the while, she observed me. “The terms of my bargain are quite simple. If you give me that key in your hand, I will give you back your sword.”

  I caught my breath. The blade seemed aflame itself, flashing in the firelight. “You would do that?”

  “I would.”

  My sword . . . I could almost reach it, almost feel it. But one look at Nimue, watching me smugly, struck me like a falling stone. My fingers tightened around the sapphire-studded loop. “I’ll make no bargains with you,” I proclaimed. “Even for the sword.”

  Her hands, creamy white, clasped together. “Ah, well, such a shame. I shall just have to tell my soldiers to kill you. And your friends, as well. Then I’ll take the key anyway.”

  “You are a witch, Nimue,” blurted Ector. “If my master knew—”

  “Leave your foolish master out of this. Or I shall turn my marksmen on you right now, servant boy.”

  Bristling, he swung to face me. “Don’t do it, please! If she gets hold of that key, then all will be lost.”

  Nimue cackled softly. “I suppose I might give you one more gesture of mercy, hmmm? Just to prove my intentions are honorable.”

  I sneered, “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Skeptical? Ah then, just listen. Before you hand the key over to me, I’ll allow you to use it. That’s right. To heal yourself.”

  “No, young hawk!” cried Ector. “That would—”

  Nimue swatted the air, as if brushing away a fly. Ector flew backward, rolling down the slope. He stopped just short of the conflagration, though his sleeve burst into flames. While he labored to put it out with handfuls of dirt, she watched him with amusement. “Someone,” she said, “should teach that boy some manners.”

  Turning back to me, she coaxed, “Go ahead, now. Use the key to mend that little trouble with your heart.” Her perfume wafted over me. “Before I change my mind.”

  “Wa—wait,” I stammered. “Why would you let me do that?”

  “Mercy, as I said. And also gratitude.”

  “For what?”

  The ring of flames roared, surging higher. From every side it spouted sparks that landed, still aglow, on the ground. A few tufts of grass caught fire, sending thin trails of smoke into the mist.

  “For leading me to my precious key, of course. Why, I’ve been searching for it for quite some time now.”

  Seeing my look of astonishment, she smirked. “I don’t mean you, little wizard, but your large-eyed friend there.”

  Hallia gasped. “Me? I wouldn’t lead you—”

  “Not knowingly, of course.” She stroked her hair with evident satisfaction. “That was the beauty of it, you see. Once I learned that a deer man had carried the key into the marsh, I figured you would lead me to it eventually.” She pointed a long finger at my chest. “Especially if you had the proper incentive.”

  With a frown, she waved at her shadowy soldiers. “The timing was fortunate, too. I was beginning to grow a little, shall we say, impatient with my good friends here.”

  A few of the marsh ghouls grumbled, tensing their bows, before she cut them off with a glance. “They had done well enough, I’ll grant, at keeping unwanted intruders out of the marsh. And at widening the borders where I required more room to search. Yet they had done miserably at helping me find what I really wanted.”

  “So you’re responsible for destroying that forest,” I fumed. “And also that village.”

  “Oh, more than just one village, I daresay. And more than just a few trees here and there! You have no idea.” Looking very pleased with herself, she flicked a spark off her dress. “Ah, but a
ll this was not so easy as it sounds. It wouldn’t have worked to have me clearing intruders out of the marsh, oh no. That would have roused too much suspicion—not to mention the few enemies I still have on this antiquated island.”

  She paused, straightening her silver-threaded shawl. “The solution, of course, was to give a good deal of my power—not all of it, mind you, but enough to raise serious havoc—to some other people.” She pondered the marsh ghouls for a moment. “Preferably people who were almost as wicked, if not as clever, as myself. That way no one would suspect that I was involved.” In a silken voice, she added, “And the marsh ghouls, I can assure you, were delighted to cooperate. More than eager! How else could I have entrusted them with my own magic? And my own weaponry?”

  She flicked her finger at the blade of my sword, causing it to ring softly. “Hence my gratitude, and this little moment of mercy. So now, tell me. Do you accept my offer to use the key, or not?”

  Hallia, her hair aglow from the flames, leaned toward me. “I don’t trust her any more than you do. But you can’t refuse this chance to spare your life.”

  “Wise words, deer woman.” Nimue placed her hands on her hips. “All right, then. Make your choice.”

  Slowly, I nodded. My hand quivering, I brought the key to my chest. As it came nearer, I could almost feel the bloodnoose tightening around my heart. My life.

  “All you need to do,” offered Nimue, “is fix a clear image in your mind of the spell you would like to break. Then turn the key.” She eyed the sparkling sapphire. “Hmmm, hurry now. I’m growing rather bored with being merciful.”

  I drew a deep breath. My chest throbbed; now even breathing seemed an effort. I looked into Hallia’s eyes, then at the key. At last, I concentrated my thoughts on the spell that, beyond all others, I knew must be destroyed.

  Suddenly, I turned the key around—pointing it at the marsh ghouls. Nimue cried out in surprise. Before she could do anything more, I turned the key.

  Instantly, a new sound rent the air: the sound of heavy chains splitting apart and clattering to the ground. The shimmering forms of the marsh ghouls released a cheer that drowned out the roaring from the inferno. At the same time, some of them hurled their bows, arrows, and swords into the fire. The flames rose higher, spitting and hissing while consuming their weapons. Meanwhile, the marsh ghouls themselves melted into the vapors—freed forever from Nimue’s spell.